


Her Broken Templar

by robotichawk



Series: Solona Amell's Adventures [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Choking, Comfort, F/M, Horror, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5174066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotichawk/pseuds/robotichawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Date: Wintermarch 23, 9:30 Dragon.<br/>Dear Diary,<br/>I found Cullen today, on the top floor of the Kinloch Hold.<br/>I don't think I can ever be the same again, after today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Broken Templar

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I know this note is LONG, but **PLEASE READ THE NOTES ALL THE WAY TO THE END.**
> 
> 1) There is a prequel to this story - [Meeting Her Templar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5229950) and [A Night In A Library.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5246432) If you want to read it.
> 
> 2) Very disturbing/horrific. Please be warned that this will be a _very_ uncomfortable, angsty piece.
> 
> 3) If you don't want to read this piece (aka you're here because of Second Chance For Him), just skip to the end and read the notes at the bottom. I'll provide a summary for you there.
> 
> 4) **WARNINGS:** This piece has strangulation aspect in it. Trigger warnings. Please read the tags!!!
> 
> P.S. [cantkeepmyeyesoff](http://cantkeepmyeyesoff.tumblr.com/) provided the picture for me. Thank you.

 

Cullen. She’s found him. Her Templar.

Thank the Maker, _he’s alive_.

She stumbles, her legs giving out with piercing relief, a broken sob escaping her bloody lips. She nearly trips over the cold uneven stone floors of the Kinloch Hold, the skeleton hands of her friends she’s slaughtered pulling, tugging at her feet.

She does not care. Her Templar is alive. But after a second look, her hand flies to her mouth to muffle her horrified screams, her eyes drinking in her broken Templar kneeling inside the magical cage.

His armor’s all but gone, damaged and missing here and there. He kneels, sobbing and whimpering within the strange cage with his hands clasped together in a frantic prayer and his eyes screwed shut against the waking nightmare he is trapped in. There is blood, so much black blood all around him and the stench of rotting corpses assaults her, making her gag. Her Cullen is surrounded by a mountain of carcasses.

“Cullen!” She screams, hurtling herself at him and pounding on the cage that separates them, “Cullen! Look at me!” She howls at him. “Open your eyes, Cullen! Please! Maker, Cullen please look at me! Tell me you’re not possessed!”

The magical force field shocks her, electric sizzle shooting through her fist and she screams once again in agony. The shock flings her back away from the cage and she lurches, almost falling onto the icy stone floor before Alistair catches her with a cry.

“Solona, careful!”

Cullen’s eyes crack open into slits at her screams, and she flinches at the burning hatred that rages there. His venomous look sears into her, corroding her from within. What has happened to the sweet boy who blushed and stuttered? The sweet boy whose golden eyes softened as he grabbed the books on the tallest shelves for her while no one was looking?

“Be gone!” He spits, his hatred dripping from his words. The disgust she sees in his eyes stabs into her; slashes her where his gaze lands. “Foul demons, be gone!”

“Cullen! It’s me, please!” She wails, throwing herself at the cage again. The shock singes her hand and the stench of cooked flesh soon wafts about her, but she pounds against the cage with screams of his name.

“Cullen!”

“Sol, stop! You’re hurting yourself!” Alistair rips her away from the barrier, locks her in his embrace as she kicks and sobs. He grits his teeth and restrains her, turning his head to look at her broken Templar trapped inside.

“Cullen, it’s Alistair. Remember me? Your old bunkmate? Hey!”

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

Cullen mutters into his clasped hands, closing his eyes once more.

“Cullen, it’s me, the bunkmate with the unholy love of cheese? The one who joked all the time about old Revered Mothers? We used to have pillow fights during the confession nights?” Alistair shouts at him, trying to interrupt the desperate chant of Benedictions.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written!”

Cullen screams, drowning out Alistair’s calls. His voice creaks, cracks with effort.

“Let me go! I need to get him out!” She screeches, tearing at Alistair’s gauntlets.

“They’re not real. They’re not real, they’re not real. _They’re not real!_ ” Cullen weeps, biting down onto his lips. “She’s not real, she’s dead! Dead, dead! Died with the Grey Wardens, dead at Ostagar! Dead!” She can see his tears rolling down his sickly skin.

“Cullen!” She screams.

“No!” Her broken Templar howls. “You broke the others, but I will stay strong! For my sake, as well as theirs!”

At that, she finally sees the bloody corpses he is practically buried under. Like so many twisted remains she has passed on the way here, she recognizes them. Familiar faces now contorted into agonized horrors.

Ser Farris was a big man, gruff and grim. His eyes were always stern while he stood vigilant over the mages. Now Farris’s distant, blank eyes stare up at her from dried, crusted pool of blackened blood. But the rest of him is missing, until her eyes trip over the headless body by Cullen’s feet. Cullen’s sword is thrown on the armored corpse, bloodstains rusting onto it.

Ser Beval was cheerful, easy grins gracing his lips as he played countless practical jokes and teased his bunkmate Cullen. Now his lips are frozen in a scream, though he does somewhat look more whole than Farris. He has creamy maggots wiggling about on his pale, torn-up body. And his eyes. His once friendly eyes are gouged out, deep ugly-red gashes and empty, hollow sockets replacing those brilliant blue eyes.

And Annlise… oh, beautiful, stern, admirable Ser Annlise… she looks like she has been eaten.

She screams again. No, not Cullen. Not her Templar. Never her Templar. Not Cullen.

Alistair Smites the barrier, focuses his will onto the crackling cage. The sparks fly and it hums, but the hateful cage stands strong.

Cullen screeches his Chant, his eyes still screwed shut as the dust settle. “O Creator, see me kneel: For I walk only where You would bid me, Stand only in places You have blessed, Sing only the words You place in my throat. My Maker, know my heart. Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride!” A frantic, frenzied prayer that he hurls at thin air.

She finally breaks away from Alistair’s grasp, kneeling just before her broken Templar within the cage.

“Cullen, oh Cullen it’s me. Look at me. I’m real. I’m alive! Cullen, please, please look at me! You recognize me, right? Cullen, please, please!” She whispers, begging, pleading for those golden eyes to see her, to soften like it always did.

“O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights, Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked! Make me to rest in the warmest places!” Her Templar howls, frantic chant erupting from his frozen blue lips.

“Cullen… It’s me, please! It’s me…” She weeps, her right hand coming to rest on the crackling barrier. She ignores the sizzling shock that once again rips through her arm, the black smoke that rises from her charred burns.

“Do not tempt me with her image, demons! I know well enough I harbor feelings for a mage! Be gone, be gone! How much longer will you use my ill-advised infatuation with her against me? It will not work, she is dead!”

She chokes, her horror twisting her innards at his broken screams. A confession, a proclamation of affection she has secretly hoped for, prayed for with teasing blushes barely a month ago, wrenched out of her broken, tortured Templar in this abominable tower they once called home.

“Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, Should they set themselves against me!” He shrieks, furious words tumbling onto the blood-slick stone floor.

Alistair Smites the cage again, and again. He roars, willing to make the magic crumble, to dissolve under his command. But it stands stubbornly strong, keeps her hand parted from her broken Templar’s trembling fists.

She grits her teeth, wipes at her tears with her left hand. Her Templar, her Cullen is just on the other side of this hateful barrier.

_Andraste condemn her for acting like a fool, she will get her Templar out of that cage if it’s the last thing she does._

She stands up, her eyes blazing with power, her robes rippling with her magic as she tugs at the force that lies within her blood. An angry gale whips around her, her magic creating small tornadoes to whirl about within the room purely from the pressure of power she gathers between her hands.

She thrums, clashes of waves storming up within her, directing her hands toward the spiteful cage that separates her from her Templar.

“Child, no! You must preserve your mana!” Wynne cries behind her, but she ignores it. With a terrible screech, she attacks the barrier with all her power, every last ounce of mana she has left in her blood exploding out of her fingertips.

The cage splinters under Alistair’s Smite and her enraged magic, groans and creaks before shattering into million pieces.

Cullen finally raises his head, stares dumfounded at the thin air where no electric wall pulses.

She seizes her Cullen and drags him out of the circle of corpses he is kneeling in, out of the crusted bloody corner of the room. She has never touched his bare skin before, had never expected to touch beyond his silverite armor. Cullen is heavy, far too heavy for her to lift, but Alistair helps her lift him into her arms. Soon she sits on the blood splattered floor, her gore-drenched robes crumpling beneath them both.

“Lyrium, lyrium now!” She hisses up at Wynne, who silently uncorks the potion bottle and pours it into a wineskin. The elder mage sloshes around the contents, mixing the lyrium with water before passing the spiked liquid to her.

“Cullen, here, drink. Please, it’s clean.” She whispers, her tears dripping on to his icy, clammy skin. She cradles him within her embrace and tilts the wineskin up to his frozen blue lips.

“Solona?” He croaks, his shivering hand reaching up to her face. His left gauntlet is missing and his cold hand leaves frosting trail on her cheek. Her first time being touched by her Templar, her Cullen.

“Yes, yes, it’s me. It’s me. Drink, please drink.” She weeps, her trembling hand barely keeping the wineskin on his lips.

“You’re alive?” He rasps, his thin voice cracking, his parched lips bleeding. “ _How?_ ”

She weeps, rocking him within her embrace.

“Hey, Cullen. You need to drink this now.” Alistair takes the wineskin from her trembling hand and presses it to Cullen’s icy lips. But his teeth are chattering too hard, frozen cold in this harrowing nightmare.

“Child, the boy is freezing. Pass him here so I may warm him up.” Wynne murmurs, reaching out to take Cullen from her grasp.

“No!” She screeches, fending off the mage’s reaching fingers. “Don’t touch him!”

Wynne pulls back sharply, her party’s surprised eyes whirling over to her. She leans over her broken Templar protectively, hissing. “ _Don’t touch my Templar!_ ”

They all stare at each other for a moment before Wynne bends down, passing her another uncorked bottle of lyrium potion. She snatches it from Wynne’s hand, gulping down the contents rapidly. Before long her magic sings within her veins once more and she turns her attention back onto her Cullen.

He is shivering in her arms, teeth chattering, eyes glazed over and wide. Her tears flow constantly, dripping onto his pale skin. But she strokes the damp curls plastered across his forehead, sweeping them out of the way of his eyes while her Immolation spell makes her body smolder and glow.

She clutches him and burns, the heat soon scorching between them. He is mostly naked, the damaged armor and shredded underclothes providing no real cover for him. She shudders to think why he is naked, pulls her thoughts away from those horrid wonders. She crushes those terrifying questions, focuses on her spell. Thankfully, her warmth soon bleeds over to his skin past the meager fabric he still has wrapped around him.

She weeps and weeps as she warms her chilled, broken Templar. Her party simply watches quietly, listening to Cullen’s teeth chattering.

She traces his hollowed cheeks with her burned hand. Her blistered fingers trail over his wide eyes, his sharp nose, his chapped, bleeding lips. Her heat melts into his skin, makes his clammy pale complexion pink, then red.

Soon he gulps down the lyrium-water Alistair holds to his lips, the lips that are no longer foggy blue.

“Cullen, oh Cullen.” She cries softly, her hand never ceasing its tender caress.

“You… you left me.” He rasps, and she finds his golden eyes.

There is a hysterical terror in his blown-up pupils, a maniacal rage that scalds her. His poisonous gaze blazes into her and she gasps, paralyzed by his deranged wrath.

“It’s your fault.” He hisses, his hand shooting out to grasp her neck, tightening, clenching. “Your fault!”

And he is on top of her, pinning her to the bloody stone floor, choking her with all his remaining strength, his demented rage erupting.

She sees nothing but his hatred pouring, ablaze, scorching into her from his now darkened eyes. It fills her vision, nothing but those two eyes, once kind and shy, crinkling with mirth, now twisted into a terrified, horrific rage that inflames him.

“You! It’s all your fault!” He seethes, his nails digging into her windpipe. “I should kill you! I should kill all of you! _Mages!_ ”

_There are nails digging into her neck, pressure on the windpipe, no air gets past his crushing hold on her throat. Nails dig in deep on the side of the neck, red blossoming there. Bumps rise in the crescent moon shape along the length of her throat, a bitter red that stands stark against her pale, soft white flesh. The sensitive skin where she has once hoped his lips would linger, his fingers would stroke in a tender admission of love._

_Clawing at his hands, once-gentle hands now holding on to her throat with all the rage, all the hatred, all the fear he’s feeling. Increasing the pressure, her throat clamps down, and darkness creeps in. But does it matter? All she can see are the eyes, the two amber eyes that scream of the venomous hatred and fear he feels when he looks at her. He slams her head against the cold stone floor again and again, blood trickles down from her scalp._

_Hair loose, tangled up, in her mouth, saliva drooling out of corner of her lips. Tousled hair_ _is everywhere, twisted thick mass beneath her head, cushions the blows? No, no it doesn’t. Tongue loose, feels too thick, too big in her mouth. His mouth also open in a mirrored scream, shouting, howling, hurling his terror and hatred into her, burns it, brands it into her soul. Is her neck breaking?_

_There is nothing but hatred and terror._

_He hates her. He fears her. More than anything, he is terrified of her._

_He chokes her, strangles her. He needs her gone, he needs her to be dead. He needs her to be banished from his world._

_Her legs kick out, kick at the boy pinning her down, fight for her life, fight for that quick breath of air that her lungs desperately need. Her fingers search for his neck, to strangle him back, to make him loosen up, to cut off his own flow of air. But there’s no strength behind her slender fingers. Her hands barely graze against his neck, fall limply to her sides._

_He is breaking. Cullen is breaking, her Templar is breaking. And he breaks her. He chokes, strangles her, cripples her. She sees the hand she’d shaken on the day they’d first met, shy and enthusiastic pump. It now breaks her neck, breaks them both._

_His mouth, his sweet mouth that spoke nothing but gentle, calm words now howls like a maddened beast. The maniacal screams tears them both, shatters them both._

_He breaks it, he breaks it all. He breaks her, corrupts her, defiles her._

_His eyes scream his hatred. His eyes scream his fears._

_His tears drip onto her cheeks, wet, salty. Slick._

_He ransacks her, brutalizes her aching innocence. He warps her home, violates her shared memories of him._

_But her own eyes remain dry._

_She is cold inside, a block of ice where here heart used to be. Where did her beating heart go? There is frigid liquid flowing through her veins. Where did her bright, warm blood go? Why is there ice in her veins?_

_It doesn’t hurt anymore. Nothing hurts anymore. The fingers grasping at her throat don’t hurt._

_Her eyes freeze up._

_His eyes blaze out._

_He hates her even more for being so cold._

_An eternity passes. A few seconds pass. It is the same. Her innocence is dead. An eternity, a second, a broken boy and a broken girl. Shattered, together. An eternity, a second. It makes no difference._

Alistair finally rips Cullen off of her.

Explosive coughs wreck her body and she gasps, gulps at the putrid air thick and syrupy with decay. It makes her gag all over again, and she rolls over and heaves, her knotting stomach wringing the last of the bile out of her. She shakes, trembles weakly as she retches, feels her dreadfully tangled hair being brushed out of the way by one of her companions.

She gasps, coughs, feels her blood running down her scalp, her vision flickering dangerously as she gulps down the rotting, stale air. The sudden rush of oxygen is dizzying, her vision blackens and whitens, sparks fly across her eyes, stars blinker. Muffled noises fade out, and return tenfold, loud, screeching, tearing.

“Cullen! Stop!” Alistair roars, pinning Cullen against the wall. But Cullen thrashes, fights against Alistair’s vice-like grasp.

“Alistair, you don’t understand! You never did understand.” He sneers, now-red-lips curling over his teeth.

“They’re not human like you and I. They’re monsters, abominations! They need to be _exterminated_. She needs to be exterminated. This is all her fault!”

Alistair shakes him, hard, his eyes wide and pained. “Maker, Cullen listen to yourself! Are you even hearing what you’re saying?”

“Let me kill her!” Cullen snarls, golden eyes glittering with malice. He lurches forward before Alistair slams him back against the wall. She stares blankly, frozen. So cold, so cold, so icy cold.

Her Templar, oh her Templar is gone. Her sweet Cullen would never say such spiteful words.

Leliana and Wynne pull her up to her feet while Sten and Barkspawn place themselves between her and the raving lunatic. The qunari warrior eyes the man warily, his muscles tense while Alistair grasps and shakes him.

“ _She_ didn’t start this mess, as you well know it. It was the blood mages, not her!”

“She’s the same! They’re all the same! They need to _die._ ”

Cullen’s voice drops several tones suddenly, and she steps forward. She is empty, she is hollow. The ghosts of her dead friends cackles maddeningly. Grins, smiles, rejoices in her corrupted purity.

“They caged us like animals! Broke us one by one, tortured us! Look at the corpses, Alistair! They made our blood boil in our veins, until Beval clawed out his own eyes! They need to be slaughtered! I will wipe their taint off the face of Thedas!”

“Watch your tongue Templar, not all of us are like Uldred.” She speaks, limping towards her once-sweet Templar. Her eyes are frozen, her tongue is stiff. Her chilled words drop out of her still lips.

“Sol, are you mad? Stay away!” Alistair shouts, struggling to keep his hold on Cullen as his thrashes grow wilder.

“Dear child, you are bleeding. Come here so I can heal you.” Wynne motions for her, but does not move closer to Cullen.

“Kill him, Alistair. He is but another crazed Templar we must slay to reach Uldred.” She flicks her hand, steps closer. Her footsteps ring loudly, hollowly. Dark shadows flicker, shapeless lumps smother her. Lingering dead claws into her limbs. The ghosts of her dead friends smile gleefully.

“We can’t kill him, he’s not possessed. He’s just hurt!” Alistair growls, fending off Cullen’s wild attacks.

She gathers the power once more, bloody haze sweeping over her eyes as she teeters dangerously while calling forth her magic. Her skin splinters under the pressure of her power, bleeds out from the cracks in her body.

“Solona, are you trying to kill yourself?” Leliana screams, pulls at her robes but she does not care.

“Stop, Sol! He’s not possessed! Do not kill him!” Alistair roars, turning his head to look at her with horrified eyes. But the noise is far away, echoes dully, hollow.

Just another Templar. Just one more crazed Templar. Just like Beval, Farris, and Annlise. Just like Niall, Finn, Remille. Just another Templar. Just another friend, just another family for her to execute to reach Uldred. Just one more obstacle in her path.

The ice in her chest creaks, cracks creep along the crystalline edges. The chipped surface falls away, reveals the fragile fractures splitting open. She remembers the way he used to rub nervously at his neck.

This is not Cullen, not her sweet golden Cullen. Just one more Templar. Just one more corpse standing in her way.

The frigid ice in her veins rushes to her heart. Pours in to the gaping wound there, aches, drums, thuds. She remembers how he used to carry her to bed at ungodly hours from the library.

She can land a blow on his temple, shatter his skull. A blow strong enough to cave his face in, make him unrecognizable. Just another body, just one more casualty. Just one more bloody smudge on her robe, a bit of brain matter to splatter on her hands. It wouldn’t make much difference – she is so thoroughly drenched in human, elven, and demon gore alike that she can’t even see her robes underneath it all.

Just another Templar. Just another body. Just one more blow.

Her beating heart is back. She doesn’t want it back. It hurts. She wants it to stop beating. She wants it to stay frozen. It will make killing him much easier. She remembers how he laughed with his friends poking fun at his curly hair. His eyes sparkled warmly then.

A blow to his head. Quick strike to his temple. Simple, efficient, devastating. It would be a merciful death. She pulls her arm back, her magic pulses in her fist.

Her hateful eyes see the ghost of his sweet smile over his snarling lips.

Her aching heart remembers how his lips curved shyly in a gentle smile, watching over her protectively day and night.

Her blazing blood remembers how they held countless conversations, spoken only with their clear open eyes. Silent, wordless conversations they shared together, watching each other, smiling at each other.

Her heart thuds, last piece of ice falls away from her flaming chest.

Just one more Templar. But a Templar that used to be hers.

“Solona, _stop!_ ” Alistair cries, screams, but she doesn’t stop.

She howls, darts forward and strikes him in the gut with her force magic fueling the blow. Her fist cracks under the impact, her bones shattering against the very last bit of metal armor that protects the Templar’s body. The armor creaks and cracks, splits and clangs onto the cold, bloody stone floor. But it protects her Templar one last time from her savage strike.

Cullen’s frenzied eyes roll back into his head and he slumps over Alistair, his lunatic screams finally quieting. But he continues breathing. Pained, weak, and wheezing, but he continues to breathe. He continues to live. The tower is bathed in silence once more, only the maddening cackle of the dead ringing over her head.

He used to be her Cullen. But he won’t ever be again. Her neck throbs painfully, his ghosting hand crushes down on it.

“We are taking him with us. Sten, drag him along. Keep him out of my sight, or I _will_ kill him.” She snarls, her broken, burned fist dropping limply to her side. She picks up her staff with her left hand, knows her right hand is beyond quick repair. It will need days, perhaps weeks of careful healing to be useable again.

She is going to personally tear Uldred limb from limb while he screams in pain. She will paint the walls of the Kinloch Hold with Uldred’s innards.

She marches up the stairs to the Harrowing Chamber, forever leaving behind her sweet, sweet innocence.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading this story, no matter how hard it was. It is a very special piece for me. Thank you all so much.
> 
> Promised summary for Second Chance For Him readers:
> 
> Solona Amell finds Cullen trapped in a magical cage. She tries to get him out, gets her right hand burned/electrocuted in the process. But eventually with Alistair's help Solona manages to free Cullen from the cage. She tries to warm him up, gives him some lyrium. But in his poor state, Cullen attacks Solona and attempts to strangle her. Alistair manages to rip him away, and Solona knocks Cullen out with a blow. During this time her right hand is completely mangled and damaged, which she knows she'll have to heal carefully for weeks after. She then proceeds to the Harrowing Chamber to face Uldred.


End file.
